


an empty hearth dawn by the sea

by cartoonmoomba



Series: do you remember loving me [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: AU: WoL, F/M, still going strong with the Sophia lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonmoomba/pseuds/cartoonmoomba
Summary: In which:The Warrior of Darkness skulks around Ul'Dah, Lieal meets and Arbert who is not Arbert, and a fisherman watches the woman he loves walk away.





	an empty hearth dawn by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIV does not belong to me.
> 
> Relies heavily on [if we only die once](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11111742) for context.

The sun above the Kugane waters is blazing bright, coloring the ocean landscape with glowing blues and greens and rolling waves. Lieal shields her eyes with one hand, the other bracing herself against the vivid red railing of the pier’s ocean-top deck, and watches the ships come and go. Some as large as the _Kuroboro Maru_ come to dock, others, tiny barges from ships farther out who make land and greet the workers on the pier with hearty laughs and more than one slip of the hand containing a bundle of coin. She is reminded briefly of the ships she’s watched and set sail on arriving at Melvaan’s Gate, with the Limsan waters just as blue and bountiful and calming. _Even with entire oceans between them_ , Lieal thinks with a smile, _people do not change_.

She is here on behalf of the sultana, with a request to make of Hancock and the East Aldenard Trading Company – something she is rather not looking forward to doing, but the task must be done by _someone_ and by someone the sultana had made it quite clear it could not be anyone but _her_ – and she is hesitant to head to the Ul’Dahn building just yet. She knows that it stems from the fact that she has not had the chance to stop by her own dwellings within the actual Thanalan city as of yet, despite the fact that she had been by to see the sultana; just as she knows that the unease that had been coiled within her for the entire duration of her Ala Mhigan and Othard campaigns (apart from the obvious unease of _dying_ , and _violence_ and Garlemald as a whole) had nothing to do with the ongoing war against the Empire and everything to do with, well, her _houseguest_.

She hesitated to continue calling him a houseguest – the amount of time he spent within her apartment, both with her in it and during the days and nights she spent in NOX’s member rooms instead, respected him at least the title of _roommate_. Or perhaps _lover_ was more appropriate.

The sun continues to shine; a breeze catches at her hair and to the sound of hungry seagulls, she heaves out a sigh and blows the strands dancing before her away.

A glint at the corners of her eyes catches her attention and she half turns to see a fisherman’s hook reel in back to his fishing rod. She wonders why he’s chosen here, of all places – the fish must be scarce this close to the hustle and bustle of the pier’s workers and visitors. She turns fully and leans back against the railing to watch him, eager for anything to deter her longer from making the trek to the eastern side of the city and the Ijin District, where Hancock will no doubt ply her with bitter tea and sweet cakes. Or perhaps even Tataru, eager to hear the latest gossip and ongoings from her mouth and not a linkpearl or a letter.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, watching him, but eventually she feels her shoulders relax and the unease within her settle down. There is something soothing about the line of the man’s body and the dedication to his fishing, even though he’s caught only one fish in the entire time she’s been watching him.

Lieal’s eyes suddenly narrow. _Wait, I know those shoulders_ _and that back_. She’s seen them multiple times before, both clothed and bare and she would be a horrible woman not to recognize her own lover’s body. _What is Arbert_ _doing here?_

She could not imagine him making the long voyage across the sea, and having never prior been to Othard, he would not have been able to utilize the aetherytes within the country. _Perhaps such travel is a boon to his status as an outsider to our world?_ She catches herself musing before an unexpected anger overtakes her. He had not written to her in _weeks_ , had not thought to give word of any progress made with Urianger on restoring him to a proper, breathing body and all of a sudden he was _here_ , fishing?

 _Fishing_ , of all things!

Her feet take her to him in a determined stride before she can calm herself. “Arbert!” She calls out once within acceptable range, her fists clenching in the pockets of her jacket. “Pray tell me what you think you’re doing!”

The man turns at the sound of her voice, dark eyes wide in his face as he catches sight of her – and it is indeed him, she realizes, with his face tanner than she had last seen him and a new scar at the corner of his lip. What had he been doing while she was away – losing to monsters and cutthroats?

She doesn’t give him a chance to answer her and plows straight on, her usual demeanour shaken at the presence of him and the turmoil of her emotions regarding _him_ as a whole. “I have not heard word from you nor Urianger in _weeks_ and you think it fine to show up here in Kugane, without even notifying me?”

She is close enough to count the faint dusting of freckles on his nose now, and Arbert opens his mouth to speak—

The sun shines in her eyes; the seagulls caw in the distance; and all of a sudden all she can see is

_(a figure as if against the sun, Void dark but radiant—)_

nothing. 

.

.

The harping of the merchants on Sapphire Avenue Exchange, Arbert decides with a grimace, must be a sound one expects to hear in _at least_ one of the Seven Hells.

The sun above Ul’Dah is ruthless as it beats down on the citizens below it and Arbert ducks into a shaded corner for relief alone, reaching up to wipe at his brow – an action that he has not had to do since the _Before_ , in _his_ Eorzea, in _his_ Ul’Dah. His body had taken to its restored, proper state as easily as it had taken to breathing again – something that had been unexpected, but wholly not unwelcome.

It still catches him off guard, even a near week later, how much he has missed being alive. It was the little things, he’s noticed, like feeling the sun on his skin (even when it positively burned) and the cool slide of water down his throat. The taste of food and drink as a whole, and sweat on his skin, and an ache in his muscles after a lengthy fight; no more of the sensation of ice burrowed under his skin every waking moment, and even in sleep, haunted with the Void and the faces of those he left behind.

Those still remained, of course, but at least he could now find comfort in a warm hearth upon waking. And a warm body beside his to turn to, if he was so lucky.

In the darkness, Arbert’s grimace deepens. _A warm body belonging to the Warrior of Light, you mean_.

The absence of one certain miqo’te had been felt deeper than he had expected upon her announcement of intent, although they both knew turning down the Scions and the Eorzean Alliance was not even an option, and her decision to leave was an illusion – one he had indulged her in. The apartment in The Goblet sat empty without her presence to fill the rooms, remembered only by the fading scent on her clothes within the wardrobe and the plants now blooming in her absence. Even the copperfish within the fishtank dominating one corner of the living room seemed to appear sadder without her there to gaze upon them, drawing patterns to catch their attention with on the glass—

Arbert was, decidedly, not sulking over his lover’s absence.   _Lover_? He debated on what to call her. _Roommate? Friend? Enemy?_

Well, at least the last one had not been applicable for a lengthy period of time now.

A breeze rustles the tarps of the merchant stalls, bringing with it plenty of sand that Arbert sneezes on and even more of the dreaded afternoon heat. A merchant across the way catches his eye and waves towards his wares, a giant — and most likely fake — gemstone necklace dangling from one hand.

“Beautiful jewellery for that special lady in your life!” He calls out, leering at the passing Ul’Dahns. His yell is met with several others down the avenue in response, competitors vying for attention and profit.

 _Ifrit take me_ , Arbert groans, and prepares to head home to figure out how to compose a letter to a _special lady_ in a manner where the phrases _I miss you_ and _I have a properly alive body now_ and _I am eager to feel your warmth beneath my skin_ do not make it into the final copy.

.

.

“I am so sorry,” Lieal addresses the man before her, abashed and face flushed with embarrassment. “I truly do not know what came over me, for me to lose consciousness so. I thank you for catching me.”

The sun is bright above them with nary a cloud in the sky. The fisherman that had caught her in a faint spell offers a kind smile, one hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Not a problem, miss,” he offers and Lieal averts her eyes from his, a headache building behind her eyelids. What had she been so focused on beforehand, to result in such a migraine?

 _Hancock_ , she remembers with a sigh. _Nanamo wants an audience with Hancock._

She thanks the fisherman again and turns to leave, hands burrowed in the depths of her jacket pockets – a handmade work of leather and a soft fur collar, brushing against her neck with each breath. She takes out one hand to smooth down the front of it and pauses, catching sight of the crescent shaped marks on her palm.

A drop of water falls upon them, stinging the red skin and reflexively she glances up for rain; the sky remains cloudless. Frowning, she reaches up to wipe at her eyes and her fingers come away wet with tears. _How strange,_ she decides and turns a corner, only to find herself staggering against the wall there as her legs fail her and she collapses on the dirt, sobbing her heart out into the empty street. Her heart within her breast burns with a grief she has not felt since the frightening moment she saw Y’shtola’s unmoving body in the result of Zenos’ attack on Rhalgr’s Reach – since she watched Haurchefant collapse before her very eyes, smiling at her all the while.

 _I don’t know why I’m crying_ , she manages to think through the pain constricting her lungs. The tears do not stop; the street remains blissfully empty; and though it all, all she can think of is Arbert and his rare smile.

.

.

The fisherman on the dock watches the Warrior of Light leave with a bittersweet smile. Her gait remains familiar to him, unchanged in the seven years since he has last seen her up close and not in the midst of a crowd or from a safe distance. The confident set in her shoulders and the tilt of her chin, though – those were new, and had made her look all the more beautiful and so unlike the uncertain, sweet girl of sixteen summers he had once been in love with. _Still in love with_ , he corrects himself and reaches up a hand to cover his eyes. Through his fingers, head craned back as he hides his tears, Arbert stares at the crystal-blue sky and tries not to think on her calling his name ( _impossible_ ) and her mention of Urianger ( _did not remember him, just like all the others_ ) before her lapse in consciousness.

It always turned out the same – her glimpse of him, the vacant look in her eyes following, and then a misdirection of attention with a magic unlike anything he has ever seen.

A cold breeze from the oceanfront tugs at his hair and clothes, and in it he feels the warm embrace of a Mother he has not heard from in years. _My son_ , he imagines her croon. _It is time to let go._

“Is it?” He asks back to the empty air.

There is only silence in reply.

Arbert sighs, packs up his fishing gear, and prepares to teleport away. He spares one last glance at the corner where the woman had turned, flexing his fingers that can still recall the warmth of her body as she fell into him and the soft brush of her pale hair against his skin.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks the words he has never had the chance to say, not since that fateful day in the Grand Palace – and he knows she will never be able to hear them.

 


End file.
